Judging Books
by HaraBarbie
Summary: Danny finds out that Vlad is a halfa before Vlad can Danny...and before Vlad has displayed any of his evil. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

"He looks cool," a young Danny Fenton chortled, the light in his eyes hopping wildly as he stared at the picture of the casually dressed man with arms around his mother and father and grinning at the camera.

"He was," his father replied, patting his son on the back and leaving his hand there to caress as he fell into the trap of nostalgia. "V-Man and I did everything together—shared everything from secrets to sodas and all the backwash that came with it."

"Uh, ew," Danny said, and quickly seemed to lapse back into his interest, the brief disgust faltering. Danny, recalling his own best friend, a boy named Tucker he'd met in the first grade and still kept to this day, now in seventh grade, said, "If you guys are such good friends, why don't you hang out?"

His father's light expression darkened, and though the boy was eleven years old, he was not so naïve that he could not recognize something very heavy and unpleasant that lie in his father's past, now plaguing his memories. Something that separated he and this man with long black hair and a lab coat that was so worn it looked as if he gotten it years and years back, and Danny, who was just beginning to grasp the length of his father's foolishness, struggled to conceive how such a thing would come about. Childishly, he wondered if V-Man was dead—devoured by dinosaurs or abducted by aliens.

"Some things, Danny, are better left untouched," his father said, and Danny shivered.

~O~

In the back of his father's RV, a fourteen-year-old Danny Fenton sat, staring out the window in an almost gloomy fashion as they speed toward the house of the V-Man for his mother and father's college reunion—first annual. The boy was dressed in baggy jeans and a band t-shirt of the group he loved, Morbid Anti-Social Youth, one he wore in place of his usual white t-shirt when it came time to hit the hay, and they'd slept in the RV the night before. Because he could not be bothered to don his usual clothes, he looked a bit like his friend, Sam Manson, a self-proclaimed Goth and Ultra-Recyclo Vegetarian—whatever the heck that meant—who would not have been caught dead wearing anything other than purple or black; this, however, was not so disturbing, because he found he shared many beliefs with her, liked the same music and idolized things other teens might have considered to be weird, but he had not felt the need to pierce his skin or tattoo himself like her—although he didn't mind wearing a black shirt occasionally, especially one that sported the name of his favorite band.

When it came to romance, however, their beliefs differed greatly, but while Sam might have thought it to be childish, he'd been saving a class ring he'd found in a box in the storage unit they used—the place what should have been their basement but was occupied by their lab—for her when he got the courage to ask her out. He thought she could make it fit into her wardrobe; he was sure the ring was his mother's, because the stone was purple—Maddie Fenton had been born in February—but it was rather bulky, and it seemed to be made for a man. Sam, who was strictly tom-boy, would appreciate this, he thought, and the addition of her favorite color. Of course, he was not concerned his mother would miss it—it had been in a box, after all. It now rested in the depths of his pocket in case he was suddenly instilled with the desire for romance along with all of the other useless things he often found his fingers brush—gum and candy wrappers, rubber bands, loose change, a half-used teddy bear eraser he'd found in the hallways of his middle school in seventh grade, and even a marble, although he had not remembered putting it there and could not recall why he might have a marble in the first place (the rarity of its pattern, however, [it was a green marble swirled with yellow, and amongst this were flecks of gold] would suggest that he'd taken it out of one of the boxes in storage while rummaging for one of his old model rocket kits and slipped it into his pocket, if absentmindedly). He thought, vaguely, that it may be his father's, but he had not bothered to question, because like with the ring, it had sat untouched and unloved for decades.

He was fingering the ring now; he ran the pad of his thumb over the smooth stone, rubbing it repeatedly as if he was attempting to polish it or it may bring him luck if he did. As he did, he thought of the girl back home in Amity Park, wondering in the way a love struck soul who has been separated from their partner will what she was doing this morning; as he stared out the window at seemingly never-ending strip of farmland and spatially-placed red barns, he longed to look in on her as she donned her tights and short skirt and the tank-top that so well highlighted her breasts, brushed her thick black hair and caked on make-up so intensely she could hardly pull her lips apart to speak when she was finished. In truth, he wished to be anywhere but here, driving to Wisconsin so his mom and dad could reunite with the man that had come into their conversation so abruptly the night before and had only entered his ears once before, as an eleven-year-old boy.

Danny, recalling his father's darkened expression and his mentioning that reconciliation with his old friend would be unwise, had asked why he so suddenly had the urge to drag them all to Wisconsin when he had plenty of work to be done around here—ghosts to be caught, homework to be done. His father showed him an invitation; it was from a man named Vlad Masters, or V-Man, as his father called him, who was hosting a college reunion in his castle in Wisconsin. The invitation had been handwritten in Victorian era cursive, much to Danny's awe, because he himself did not handwrite anything unless he had to; to further his amazement, each invitation had been _personalized _and corresponded with each receiver. Theirs had read formally:

_Dear Jack, Maddie, and Family_

_It has been a dreadfully long time since we have had contact, as is with most of our other friends from college. I am hosting a reunion—one that will hopefully become annual—at my castle this weekend, which I sincerely hope you will attend. Word is you've got two lovely children; I saw your boy, Danny, on the cover of Genius Magazine and I must say I am impressed! I am looking forward to meeting him, and your daughter Jasmine, as well as reconnecting with my two favorite chums from college. I realize you live very far away, and to eliminate hassle I invite you to stay with me in my castle. There is plenty of space, and I'm sure your two children will enjoy the luxuries I have to offer while we catch up._

_Yours truly,_

_Vlad Masters_

As one might imagine, Danny was far from looking forward to meeting the man, supposed billionaire, once and for all; of course, there was the embarrassment the man's knowledge of his little gorilla discovery conferred—because, really, who wants to be known for discovering the sex of a flea-ridden primate?—but Danny could not help but remember the way his father had looked when he'd first stumbled upon the picture of the three of them in seventh-grade. The memory of that expression that had shaped his father's face, that _something_ that had danced in his eyes, made Danny feel uneasily about the man whose home they were rushing towards, although his father now seemed perfectly normal—upbeat and excitedly childlike, that was. It caused Danny to believe that his father had perhaps done something to the man—something horrid which had caused them to grow apart and stay that way, and which kept his dad from contacting him because he felt as though he might still hold a grudge. The invitation, he thought, told his father that Vlad Masters had tossed aside all anger and was ready for reconciliation, thus Jack Fenton's easy-going approach to their cross-country trek. But in truth, it was only a very vague idea being pushed to the back of his mind by the need to stay positive so as to make this weekend with a relative he'd never known he had at least _palatable_.

The trip had been long, and undeniably boring; Danny had completed Monday's homework within the first half hour of their journey the night before, and because there was only so much online chatting he could do with Tucker, who never slept outside class, he spent the rest dozing irregularly in the front seat of their RV while Jazz and his mother sat in the back, amusing themselves with one of those "I see something red" games. At one point, Danny had harassed his father enough to allow him to ride atop the RV while they ventured a long strip of quiet countryside, but only three or so minutes into his joyride his mother woke from the nap she'd been taking and pulled him back into the vehicle. Luckily, however, his father told of their closeness to the castle, and Danny felt more awake and energized with the prospect of getting out of the RV and stretching his legs—not to mention the stink which derived from his father's poor decision to pull into a Mexican fast food restaurant when Jazz griped about her hunger. He was torn, however, because that idea that Vlad Masters might be the victim of some accident in a much secluded past had not left. In the end, though, there was really no way to tell what would be in store for them, of course, and Danny could only hope for the best.

When they arrived, the Fenton family was presented with the sight of a home like one they'd never seen before, for when Vlad Masters had told of a castle, he'd not been lying. The structure was huge, looming over the large driveway which encircled a softly bubbling fountain in the center, its shadow consuming it and providing for a comforting shade after hours of riding in a car with no air-conditioning. The place had a very regal feel to it; it had been built of heavy bricks of white marble and draped with elegant silk flags of green and gold. Towers jutted from the castle like something out of one of the fantasy books Tucker liked to read, so close to the sky Danny felt dizzy simply _looking _at them, and he could not imagine climbing the presumably many sets of stone steps to the top—he hoped V-Man would have installed an escalator, at least. The castle's backdrop was a sky of clean blue, dotted with cotton-candy clouds, and set in rolling hills and fields on which grains grew and cows grazed. It looked like something straight out of a book of pictures—a postcard he might receive from Sam as her parents dragged her on any of their many trips, inscrolled with the typical "Wishing you were here" message. And it stood to reason that it was perhaps the most beautiful place he'd seen, considering his humble upbringings in the little town of Amity Park, where too many of the homes were poor but just rich enough to evade structures of the neighboring town, Middleton, where crime and poverty were the standard.

Although he longed to exit the vehicle and stretch his legs in the cool shade cast by the castle, splash water of the fountain on his face, he lingered awhile longer in the vehicle after it had stopped in the stretch of driveway before a wooden, medieval-type front door, complete with a brass knocker, for he was still feeling a tad uneasy about the man named Vlad Masters, especially upon seeing the home and deciding that while it was beautiful, it would be impossible for anyone remotely sane to live in such a primitive place. His father, mother, and sister, however, eagerly exited the RV and advanced upon the stone steps that lead to the door and entrance of the mystical place. It opened before they'd made it up two steps, and when it did, Danny's unease was confirmed.

The man, dressed in a formal black suit, despite the heat of that morning, could not have stood more properly, up so straight you would have thought him a post and with hands folded behind his back in a manner that made Danny's head spin. He had a face that was warm and inviting but eyes that were cool and calculating and in control, and Danny felt himself becoming instilled with the knowledge that this man already knew what would come of their being here, finally—he had everything planned, after all.

Like with the picture three years earlier, Danny shivered.


	2. Chapter 2

It took the boy a few minutes to exit the vehicle, because, as with most adults he encountered, it was necessary to pause and prepare himself, for if Danny knew that someone was coming to their home or they were going to them, he spent a good deal of time trying to decide how to present himself to this person; if he knew he'd been seeing them again in the future, if frequently, he kept his attire and acted in a way that was very truthful to who he was so that he would not be expected to keep up appearances when they met again. In contrast, if they were to visit someone such as his mother's sister, who they would see maybe once every two years, at most, he felt the freedom to conjure up a new image, or adapt an alias, if he felt the desire to do so. Doing so was also determined by how he wanted this person to perceive him and act in turn; if the person was hideous, or frightening, or overbearing, or angry, or presented themselves in another unpleasant manner, or was perhaps a dreadful combination of many—someone you would not want throwing their arms around when you were reunited at the holidays—he tended to present himself in a manner that would prove just as unappealing, if not more so. For instance, to his mom's sister, a foul-smelling woman who chewed too much tobacco and stood to lose at least fifty pounds, he was a Satan-worshipping ne'er-do-well from who she shied away but griped endlessly to Maddie, saying he should be exorcised in a church of God.

On the way to the castle, his parents had encouraged him to act as his usual wonderful, sweet self, for they would have many encounters with the man in the future—and Jazz, who'd been eyeing all of the material things Vlad Masters could bestow upon them, had grabbed his arm and warned him that she would kill him if he messed this opportunity up for them. Of course, he could not have cared less what Jazz wanted, and he frankly did not believe his parents when they said they would meet again the mysterious man—after all, they had not had contact with him since college, and he lived all the way in Wisconsin, a trip for them that took countless, draining hours. And, if he were to be honest with himself, even if it meant acting as the disturbed teen he so loved to don, this man did not look like the pleasant uncle his father had bragged of, and apparently the guy was already interested in him. If he were to bring out the dour goth kid that followed him like a shadow and emerged only in the presence of someone equally as ugly, and, for that matter, as irregular, he was sure to turn this guy off. Of course, he'd promised his mom and dad he'd keep the scariness to a minimum, but this guy knew about the incident with the gorilla…

Behind tinted windows, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of Sam's eyeliner she'd given him before his first encounter with his aunt, along with the advice of creating an alias to avoid being smothered with unwanted kisses and hugs. She explained to him that goth had been her alias after her grandfather had died and her parents were looking for comfort in someone, someone who they could escape into and away from her seemingly senile grandmother, who had not stopped crying since the moment the news had landed on the tray of her electric wheelchair.

"I lived the culture so long that I started to like it," Sam had told him as she dug through her purple make-up case, which had been embossed with metal skulls. "But I wasn't always like this." Handing him the black tube, she said, smiling, "So maybe you'll be a goth a like me when this is all over."

Snickering childishly, he flipped down the vanity mirror his father had installed upon Jazz's insisting—although he'd cracked it upon installation, but it was not rendered completely useless—and removed the eyeliner's cap. He applied it thickly, with a hand so surprisingly steady it would seem that he'd been using makeup since the cradle; he had not, of course, but he'd had a pretty good teacher, who had, because she'd always felt naked without her tubes of lipstick and pots of eye-shadow, whether pink or black. And she'd taught him about more than eyeliner—in fact, she'd shown him how to create the ultimate morbid look, using everything from makeup to piercings. Of course, the two of them had never sat down and had a conversation about mega onyx nail-polish—her favorite—but he'd picked up a few things from her along the way, as they traveled down the road of life together, especially on Halloween when trying to complete his costume, Alex from _A Clockwork Orange_. She had helped him apply the eyelashes, but had also added a rosy color to his lips and around his eyes, and did some work with eyebrow pencils of multiple shades.

From then on, he had not second-guessed any advice she gave on the subject of makeup, because on Halloween night of last year, those whose homes Danny stormed were sure it was Malcolm McDowell straight from the Kubrick set at their doorstep in hopes of snagging a cigarette—or something a little more _potent_—for a quick smoke before the next scene.

Now, if he wanted a _really_ creepy look, he might have applied some of the black lipstick he'd also received from Sam along with the eyeliner, but he ultimately decided against it, figuring that his parents would already be angry enough with him and that he did not need to ground himself further than he already must be. Instead, he set his face with a white powder, which Sam ensured would truly _make _any amount of makeup he used, creating for the perfect, vampire-like look, and would chill onlookers to their bones, even if he paired it with a rainbow-striped t-shirt…but he felt glad to still be wearing his Morbid Anti-social Youth tee, because if he _had _been wearing something of that manner, he wouldn't have had time to change.

His father was calling him now.

Closing the compact and stuffing it into the pocket of his frayed jeans, Danny glanced himself over and took one last moment to assure himself that he wanted to meet Vlad Masters, the man who really _could_ give them so much if he was what Jazz said he was, in this fashion. While he thought that, yes, it might ruin their chances of snagging some of the man's money, he certainly did not want to be known to him as the kid who peeked under the gorilla's stomach, _especially _if they really were to see him again. Of course, he didn't think they would, but _any_ future encounter with the man would be an embarrassment for him unless he could redirect the man's focus to something else; that was, when Vlad talked about him to friends, he wanted him to recall dark eyes and a dreary demeanor, not a funny picture on the front page of a woman's magazine. And although it went against what he usually professed in the way of impression of relatives, he realized that when it came to the subject of his involvement with the gorilla he _did _care what one might think, because his existence was embarrassing enough and he did not need to add junior zoologist to the list. So if it meant losing his greedy sister some money or getting a very long talking to on the way home, then he'd get that talk and she couldn't buy that emerald necklace she'd eyed in the window of Amity's one and only jewelry store.

Just so long as he didn't hear a word about _Delilah_.

Heaving in a deep breath, he closed the vanity mirror and opened the door of the RV...and put a hand up, to shield his eyes from the sun which, while overbearing, he did not mind. He never had.


End file.
